Elevators
by Last-Summoner
Summary: A secret, forbidden romance taking place in the most stunning and private place in galaxy - Citadel's elevators. Slash, M!Shepard/Garrus


**A/N:****_ this was writen more out of boredom and for the sake of distraction from my endless lessons. _**_**Garrus reminds me of District 9's Chris *_***_

The elevators here are too slow, sometimes to utter irritation, making Shepard curl and un-curl his fingers in an anticipation gesture, sometimes to his delight and relief.

They are too big, too much room, create confusion and pseudo agoraphobia, like the Citadel itself. They move slowly and gorgeous, like enormous, over-patient creatures, carrying its victim to its cold metallic lair.

When Garrus stands too close to him while there's so much room around, they look suspicious. The third in their company makes Shepard uncomfortable and shifty. He wishes the elevators were small, like in Earth houses that looked like candy boxes in primitive pre-space years. So that Garrus could stand to his left close enough to touch.

In the airlocks of the Citadel there's always familiar smell of sterile surfaces and spaceship fuel, it welcomes Shepard every time he leaves the ship. He walks down from the stairway and on the dock's platform.

- Leaving, Capitan? - asks private that stands to the side of ship's enter, greeting Shepard.

- Yes.

- Tell someone of your crew to accompany you?

He thinks for about a second. Practically doesn't think at all.

- Tell Garrus to come down. Alone. There's no need for a whole army to go for shopping, - he adds hesitatingly.

Private salutes and disappears in 'Normandy's pharynx. Shepard waits, thinks about taking an apartment in Embassy's quarters for a couple of hours, but decides that it looks suspicious, unworthy and somehow dirty. He thinks just about a walk, and claims it fine.

Garrus steps out of the ship and walks towards his Capitan.

- Let's go. We'll have a little walk, - says Shepard, smiling at the turian. Turians can't smile.

They stand still in the first elevator taking them to Academy. It's quiet, Shepard can hear Garrus breathe and this own heartbeat rising sharply like a surf wave. Synthetic woman's voice announces some random news. This lift is short, they walk into the croudy dark SBC halls. Garrus' movements are smooth, unhurried, his backward legs step and spring up, his shin blades cutting the air. Shepard knows he's young, much younger than other turians he usually deals with; Shepard also knows that he's attracted to that youth grace, enjoys watching Vakarian. Enjoys gripping those blades that fit in his arms so finely.

In one of the rare empty corridors the turian catches hold of Shepard's shoulder.

- Can I regale you with something to drink, Capitan?

Human looks him in the eyes, in those pupils framed with dark blue there's more then he can understand.

- My pleasure.

They go to the bizarre bar in the Embassies, Garrus buys them drinks, they clink their glasses and enjoy rare rest and each other.

- So, I see you respect Spectres, - says Shepard.

- Of course I do. They act like they want, speak what they want. No bureaucracy, no paperwork, no foolish useless laws. I've always wanted to be one of them.

- You're quiet a renegade inside, I see, - chuckles Shepard. Garrus shrugs and fills their glasses once more.

They escape the bar after several hours, quiet happy and light because of alcohol. Shepard insists that they should go down to living quarters to check "Cora's Den". They took the long way elevator without a word.

As the doors slide close with a hissing sound, Shepard turns to Garrus, slowly steps closer. Turian turns to him as well, looks at him seemingly as usual, prepared.

- Garrus, - says the human officer, stepping closer until the turian has no space to move backwards and presses his back against the wall.

- Yes, commander?

- I see you still can't get used to this completely, - Shepard gives away a faint smile as he approaches his teammate. Vakarian shifts, moves slightly, trapped between the wall and the human body.

- I... suppose I can't, commander, - Garrus sounds startled, - You're my commanding officer, Shepard, it's... Defiance of law in some way. And you're human...

- You don't want this? - asks Shepard, maybe a little too harsh. Garrus looks aside, wiggles his fingers in something common to agitating anticipation, but freezes immediately when his commanding officer rests his hand familiarly on turian's chest. Hands move slowly and casually, one slides down in a comfortable junction of an alien hip, the other slides up, to the collarbone and neck, fixes under the jaw line.

- I guess I like it when I leave the choice to you, commander, - at last manages out Garrus, as if his commander's touches left him no other option - but yes. I want this. If only you want.

The platitude of Vakarian's answer makes Shepard smile wider as they cling to each other. The man holds turian in place, pushes him hard against the wall, grits his body in an impossible tight embrace. Garrus holds him more carefully and _politely _even, like he holds his riffle, tucks his head in human's neck.

- Shepard... - he murmurs, tickling officer's skin with his nibbling mandibles.

- Too high, - breaths out Shepard, catching hold of turian's neck and kissing his cheek bone. Garrus bows even more to the human, trails his complicated mouth to Shepard's and covers it.

The Spectre remembers all kind of jokes people used to make about turians kissing. Most of them were not very far from truth, actually. Garrus' teeth were sharp, cutting Shepard's mouth to blood, and some slightly toxic chemical in turian saliva made those cuts burn, making Shepard's lips swell and covered with burn blisters. Garrus will apologize after that, but Shepard never complaint - it was maybe the least part of his diversity.

He kisses the turian anyway, licks his teeth, his mouth sleet, and the turian mimics his kissing movements, answering. Shepard caresses his head offshoots, his neck, Garrus slides his talons through human dark hair, probably remembering the way he'd caress someone of his own kind. He stretches his own tongue into human's mouth, bringing bitter taste of saliva mixed with some pheromones that always make Shepard get on so easily.

They never talked about feelings, though Garrus sometimes made attempts. Shepard never was into the whole love thing much, but he was a paragon (at least that's what he thought), and he never had careless dirty bounds.

- Does this actually mean something to you, commander? - asked Garrus once, his foreign face as unreadable as usual. Shepard didn't think much before answering.

- Yes. It does.

Killing time at long elevators. Killing his weary boredom, war loneliness. Killing renegade inside him by it's own methods.

This time Garrus doesn't ask a thing, just touches and caresses, snatching all of Shepard's troubles away, and the human is grateful. Sterile female's voice starts to announce some political news, The Alliance officer grunts in annoyance for spoiled mood, but finds the voice muffled by turian hands covering his ears. Garrus looks him in the eye, nuzzles his cheek, and Shepard allows that little gentleness to both of them.

- Garrus?

- Yeah? - the turian twitches, tenses up in anticipation. He probably waits for a confession, something precious and rear to make a memory of, but Shepard disappoints him.

- Finish me off.

At that time lift falls softly in place, hisses like a giant cockroach and opens its vicious mouth for the new preys. Both Spectre and his soldier push away from each other like two similar sides of a magnet. For a second longer then needed three slender talons get tangled in human's five.

They go to the next lift, Vakarian is tight and experienced, and Shepard quickly, in teenage speed, comes into that familiarly cold three fingered hand, sending all rules and codex to hell, and himself with Garrus as well. The protective plates of his armor easily slides away, thanks god, maybe the inventor of human armor thought of the option of quick sex or something like that. Just as easily the plates go back to its place again, Garrus weeps his hand.

Before they escape back to the ship, they let themselves drift through the Citadel's insides, walk along its gorgeous, but still ascetic sidewalks. They even stay near one of fake lakes, cast away in meditation of their own thoughts. Shepherd remembers how they had started their affair and laughs to himself. Garrus' elbow touches his all the time.

When they go back to Normandy, an invisible permanent transformation is performed, and there are no touching elbows or gripping hands any more. Lt. Kaidan brings himself to Shepard though his eyes are nearly sparkling with migraine he's been suffering.

- Took a good walk, commander?

Shepard smirks.

- Yeah. Though those elevators are too slow for me.

_**[TBC??]**_


End file.
